No Need For Goodbyes
by GloriousBlackout
Summary: Even in the harshest of times, Bilbo is always relieved to find a friendly face.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N I may or may not make this a two parter. I have some ideas that would fit in a continuation but at the same time it could work as a standalone fic. Either way, I hope you enjoy :)**

_Disclaimer: Sadly, I still don't own the Hobbit._

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Bilbo had heard many tales of battle in his childhood. They had always been portrayed as glorious and romanticised back then; the heroes always emerged victorious without so much as a bruise while the villains were either slain or locked away for eternity. How naïve he must have been to lap up those stories and beg for more of them before he retired to bed once. While he had been very young and could not possibly have known about the cruelty of the real world, Bilbo still cringed at how easily his younger self had been engrossed in such tales.

This feeling had never been as intense as it was now, as he looked out at the carnage before him.

Bodies clashed and battered each other with sword and shield, limp forms collapsed to the ground accompanied by harsh screaming and the whistle of a blade and it was not long before the blood that had spilled was as viscous as the wet mud it had been trampled in. Bilbo thanked every deity he could think of for his discovery of the magic ring all those months ago, for it was surely the sole reason for him still being alive. As he had mentioned before, he was no warrior and he couldn't help but wish he'd never been thrust into such brutal territory.

Bilbo ducked and crawled through the mud with effort, fully aware that while the ring could conceal him, it did not grant him immunity to injury. He had already been forced to swerve away from a bloodied axe and had barely been able to contain a cry of horror as he saw it embedded in a young elf's chest instead. He had occasionally attempted to fight back, clutching Sting as if his life depended on it, and had even succeeded in taking down the odd orc. However, he was capable of little else. His best option, for now, seemed to be lying low and steering as clear of the battle as he could manage.

'Easier said than done,' he thought with a groan.

The roars of fighting had eased somewhat, and Bilbo found some relief in the knowledge that he'd at least managed to steer clear of the worst of the carnage. He collapsed against a jagged rock in a heap, gasping as crippling fear crushed down any adrenaline he may have had moments before.

A grunt to his side interrupted his fleeting respite however. For a moment he forgot that he could not possibly be seen and he yelped in fright at the sight of a particularly vicious-looking orc. The creature was already brutally scarred from its conquests, and was most likely weaker for it, but it was still sneering thirstily in the direction of several warring elves not far from where he stood.

Or at least it had been. Until Bilbo's reaction had its head whipping round like an axe and a grating snarl ripped from its throat. The hobbit cursed himself then, and kept Sting close to his chest despite the fact that he was immobilised by his terror and could do little except avoid further detection.

An arrow whizzed past his head and he started, releasing yet another sharp cry. Once he heard the squeal of pain emanate from the orc however, and turned to see a dark arrow embedded in its chest, he found himself releasing a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. Bilbo rose onto trembling legs and made to run before a familiar voice rang out and his chest swelled with relief.

"Bilbo? You there?"

Bilbo turned to face the young archer, grinning at the sight of a friendly face before remembering that Kili would hardly see his reaction. He reluctantly removed the ring from his finger and simply smiled meekly while the dwarf laughed as his dishevelled appearance finally became visible to the world.

A number had been done on Kili as well, Bilbo noticed with some shock. The young dwarf had blood trickling from a shallow wound above his eye and dried mud clung to his hands and face to the extent that he was barely recognisable. A once proud braid was now tattered and sticky with either mud or blood, neither of which Bilbo particularly wanted to think about. Kili's humour faded almost as quickly as it had appeared and his expression became grave as he addressed the hobbit. "Where is Thorin? Have you seen him at all?"

Bilbo simply shook his head, not trusting himself to speak as he remembered that everyone he'd become acquainted with - to the extent of thinking them among his friends – these past months were facing the same hell as he was. Kili growled in frustration and ran his fingers frantically through his hair, and if Bilbo did not know any better of the young dwarf's bravery he could swear that he was trembling. He eventually found his voice, edging closer to the younger dwarf as if to provide some form of comfort. "Were you not with him?"

Kili shook his head, biting his lip as he struggled to keep his composure. The sight of it was frightening on the features of one who was usually so merry and confident. "No, I was sent to the back of the crowd. Thorin thought I would be safer there…" He laughed harshly at that before spinning to face the hobbit properly. "I've seen too many die here, Bilbo. I will not abandon him now, nor my brother. I cannot!"

Bilbo nodded in understanding, knowing better than to offer Kili some feeble words of comfort. They would hardly suffice, not with the possibility that both of Kili's kin could be lying dead on the battlefield for all they knew. Some bravery flared in the hobbit's chest, and despite every instinct within him screaming to do otherwise, he walked over to Kili's side with purpose. "I'll help you find them. I may as well make myself useful."

Kili shook his head sharply, taking a shaky step back before faltering. The hobbit's offer seemed to have caught him off guard for it took him a long while to find his voice. "No. No, I cannot ask that of you." He looked off into the distance, anguish slipping into the features as he took in the main bulk of the battle as it raged on without them, before glancing in the direction of his lost mountain. Bilbo noticed that his brows were furrowing slightly, as they often did when he was in deep thought. "Put that ring of yours back on and head to the mountain. I heard there was a healing camp being set up there. It should be safer for you." He faced Bilbo properly once more and gave him the most sincere smile he could muster under the circumstances. "The battlefield is no place for a hobbit."

Bilbo frowned as Kili choked on his words. On closer inspection he noticed something that made his blood run cold. For all his earlier bravado when it came to fighting against orcs and goblins, the young dwarf was absolutely terrified here. It was hardly surprising, now that Bilbo thought about it. Kili had been thrust into the sheer brutality of battle for perhaps the first time in his short life, and he was quickly realising that it was in no way glorious or thrilling as he had been led to believe. It was harsh and frightening and sickening in ways that neither the dwarf nor Bilbo could begin to comprehend and this knowledge was shaking Kili to his core. The sight of it caused a lump to form in Bilbo's throat.

Kili had been right. The battlefield was in no way a place for a hobbit. Nor was it a place for a child.

Kili recovered himself and made to move, nodding at the hobbit with a sickening sense of finality. "Better get going, Mister Boggins."

Bilbo laughed at the familiar mispronunciation, recalling the day from long ago when he'd first heard it, before he wandered over to Kili's side once more and rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. The dwarf tensed under his touch, and refrained from looking directly into the hobbit's eyes. "I wish you luck, Master Kili." A smirk tugged at the younger's lips and he finally brought his gaze up to meet Bilbo's. "I'm sure you'll find them both."

Kili smiled weakly before breaking away, swallowing back any tears that threatened as he thought of his kin once more. "I'd better be off then."

Bilbo nodded in agreement and stepped back, reaching for the ring in his pocket. He had lingered here for too long, and if Kili had heard correctly there were wounded warriors to whom he could provide aid should he reach the mountain.

He turned in that general direction without another word. He refused to say goodbye, too aware of the fact that it could be the very last he shared with his friend. However he had barely made it five steps in the direction of Erebor before the gruff, familiar voice he'd learned to associate with the dwarven prince returned. "Oh, and Mister Baggins?"

Bilbo turned to face Kili, surprised at how quickly the other had been able to bury his fear, and the hobbit could not help but smile as he noticed the hopeful glint in the other's eyes.

"I'll meet you there."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Thank you to everyone who's reviewed or favourited so far. I think there'll be another chapter or two, but I'm not certain of everything quite yet. Hopefully the next part will be up soon though :)**

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If there was one thing that Bilbo really should have picked up on from the entire quest, it was that things rarely – if ever – went according to plan. Or at least, he _had_ realised it but had foolishly convinced himself that such foul luck would not rain on him as he wandered unseen through turmoil and death. Perhaps such false hope had merely been a feeble attempt to comfort himself. Perhaps it was easier to believe that he'd reach the mountain unscathed and that the battle would eventually be won with all of his friends intact. A fool's hope indeed.

As could have been expected, things _hadn't _gone according to plan for Bilbo. Instead of reaching the healing camps by the mountain and providing his services to those who needed it, he found himself being roused from unconsciousness with his face half buried in dirt and a sharp pain assaulting the back of his head.

For a moment he was convinced that he was dead. The hobbit could hardly believe that he had not been killed by some bloodthirsty orc or trampled to death while he lay unconscious. It was only when he noticed that the ring was still on his finger that his situation started to make some semblance of sense. Throwing aside the need to question his survival for the moment, he blearily rubbed dirt from his eyes and took in his surroundings.

Bilbo had, somewhat mercifully, not been moved since he'd fallen but a significant amount of time had evidently passed. The battle was finally won – by whom he didn't dare contemplate – and in its shadow lay piles of indistinguishable dead and the dying embers of what must once have been raging fire. A few figures were scattered here and there, searching for fallen allies and retrieving those they found. Apart from them, however, all life had been sucked from the valley and Bilbo was attacked by an onslaught of dread and grief as he contemplated just how much had been lost that day.

He could remember it all now, though his head hurt to think of it. His mad rush in the direction of the mountains, his sheer joy at seeing the arrival of the eagles, his attempts to alert others of their presence. And then, ultimately, the blinding pain as a flying rock collided with his skull and his world faded to blackness.

And, of course, he remembered his conversation with Kili. His heart clenched tightly as he recalled just how scared the young dwarf had been at the sights before him, and yet he'd bravely rushed into the throng regardless for the sake of his kin. For all Bilbo knew, any one of the battered forms littered across the battlefield could have been Kili. There was no way of knowing for sure. Even the mere thought of it, or the notion that any one of his friends could have been slaughtered so mercilessly, terrified him more than any murderous orc or goblin ever could.

Bilbo eventually rose to his feet and groaned as nausea threatened to overwhelm him. The blow to his head still throbbed and it was now accompanied by a heaviness crushing down on his chest. A small, rational part of him was reminded that this uncomfortable weight was becoming almost too familiar lately. He often experienced such discomfort after wearing the ring for a considerably long period of time. He cast such thoughts aside, however, for he could not bring himself to remove the ring here while he remained uncertain of what exactly had come to pass as he had slept.

All he could do was keep walking in the direction of the mountain and hope with all his might that there would be at least one familiar face to greet him when he arrived.

"_I'll meet you there."_

Bilbo laughed mirthlessly as Kili's words returned to his memory and he realised just how empty such promises had been in that moment. There had been no certainty in the vow, nothing to reassure them both that they would still be breathing by the day's end. Arranging a meeting while in the grip of battle was perhaps the most fruitless thing they could possibly have done.

And yet, under the circumstances, it had sufficed. Bilbo had allowed himself to believe the dwarf for once.

Now he was not so certain about the truth in Kili's words.

The way to the mountain was almost disturbingly easy to tread through. Bilbo had faced very little in the way of interruptions besides his own natural clumsiness making occasional acquaintances with the slippery surface beneath his feet. Most of the fearsome orcs he'd come to dread simply lay lifeless in the mud. And, if he hummed under his breath or thought longingly of home, he found that he was able to lull himself into a false sense of comfort and he could ignore the bodies strewn by his feet for a little while.

It was not long before the make-shift 'camps' were within his sight. It was hardly difficult to distinguish between the areas intended for the dead and those for the injured; the many dead lay in rows under canopies of cloth and little else, bared to the world. The injured had been taken into grander tents where they could receive the aid of healers in relative privacy. Most of the beings around him, dwarves and elves alike, seemed to have a certain job to do and were focussed solely on recovering those they had lost or passing along information. Nobody paid the now visible hobbit any heed.

It was only when Bilbo noticed a familiar wizard in the background – his usually proud appearance now rather dishevelled and his arm in a sling – that he made his way towards what seemed to be a private tent and caught Gandalf's eye.

The relief on the elder's face as he finally noticed the hobbit was so great it was almost tangible, but he quickly recovered himself and translated all emotion into a simple smile before finally addressing the hobbit. "Ah, Master Baggins. We've been searching tirelessly for you. Most of us feared the worst!"

Despite the slightly reprimanding tone, Bilbo simply shrugged lightly. That being said, a relief of his own flooded through him as he acknowledged that Gandalf had indeed used the word 'we'. It would seem, unless he was horribly mistaken, that at least some of the company had escaped the battle in one piece. "I take it we won then?" He cringed as he realised how dead his voice seemed now, as he could barely bring himself to care about the end result after all. The horrors of what he had witnessed were still too prominent in his memory for any form of joy to take its place.

The grey wizard seemed to have noticed Bilbo's attitude and he himself proceeded to consider his response at length, a slight weariness slipping into his demeanour. "I suppose one could say we won in the sense that we hold the victory, surely," he managed eventually, although this knowledge didn't seem to comfort either of them. "I think you and I both know, however, that too much has been lost for us to celebrate."

Bilbo nodded in agreement before casting a glance into the tent beside them, swallowing back a lump that now seemed to be permanently lodged in his throat. Gandalf followed his gaze and straightened slightly, although Bilbo noted his wince at such an action with some concern.

"Ah, yes. There is someone who wishes to speak with you, Master Baggins," he declared, rather solemnly Bilbo noted, and there was a hint of emotion in his tone that the hobbit couldn't quite place. He was about to follow the wizard into the tent before an uninjured arm blocked his way and Gandalf looked down at Bilbo with an expression so soft it seemed unbefitting of such a powerful being. "I must ask you to prepare yourself beforehand. You will not like what you see in here."

Bilbo frowned, but said nothing. He did not trust his voice when it came to concealing his fear. Instead, with Gandalf leading the way, he simply entered the surprisingly bare tent and noticed with some surprise that it was occupied by some elven healers, none of whom seemed to acknowledge his presence. However, it was only when he was led onwards and into a separate section that his heart was finally torn from his body and he found himself struggling to remain upright for the sudden heaviness in his chest.

Fili and Kili were tiny in death. Bilbo had grown disturbingly used to the sight of the mutilated corpses of men and beasts alike on the battlefield but they had seemed so much older than the two bodies that lay on simple white sheets before him, still bloodied from their wounds. If Kili had looked like a child on the battlefield then he was an infant here, face still possessing some form of innocence despite being marred by grime and blood and his youth was made all the more evident as a result. Whether it had been intentional or not, he had been placed in such a position that his head was inclined slightly towards his lifeless brother and his arm was outstretched between them – reaching for a hand that could no longer hold his own. It occurred to Bilbo then that, even after everything he'd seen beforehand, he had not truly understood the cruelty of death until this very moment.

"_I'll meet you there."_

Liar.

Gandalf was observing him carefully, his sympathy barely concealed in his expression, and for a moment Bilbo could not understand it. While he had befriended Kili on their long journey, he had hardly felt any more strongly towards him than he had towards the rest of the company. In fact the true nature of his overwhelming grief did not occur to him fully until many years later, long after he'd returned to the Shire.

After all, Kili had been the only friendly face he'd encountered while they were both trapped in hell - or the closest thing to it. He was the last being he'd spoken to before the battle's end. He was the last, and only, member of the company he'd seen alive and well on the battlefield – terrified, yes, but intact all the same.

Oh how Bilbo wished Kili and his brother could have remained that way.

He was brought out of his stupor by a firm hand on his shoulder and he practically jumped out of his skin as he finally acknowledged the wizard once more. He was aware of how numb he felt now and his only form of comfort rested in the knowledge that, whatever Gandalf wished to show him, it could hardly be much worse that what he'd just seen.

This notion became a little hazy however as the wizard spoke up once more.

"Come, Master Baggins. Thorin Oakenshield wishes to see you."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N I've tried to stick closely to canon when it comes to this chapter but some liberties had to be taken. Once again, thanks to everyone who has reviewed or favourited this story. There will most likely be an epilogue after this and then it'll be complete. With that said, I hope you enjoy the new chapter :)**

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Bilbo wasn't entirely sure what he had been expecting. It seemed that sheer desperation and a childish need for comfort had wrongly reassured him that what he'd see beyond the curtain could not be as terrible as what he'd just been forced to see. Of course, another lesson he'd learned recently was that getting one's hopes up was entirely futile. Just as there had never been any chance of him returning to be greeted by an unharmed Kili, lady luck continued to laugh mockingly at him as he was brought face to face with the wounded king.

As soon as they'd entered the tiny chamber, Gandalf had left him behind without uttering another word. Which was probably for the best really, as no contribution he could make would ever paint the scene before him a little brighter. Thorin lay still on a make-shift bed that did not appear to be particularly comfortable, his broken body mostly covered by soft white sheets. Despite the attempts of healers to conceal the damage to the wounded king, Bilbo found that he did not need to be a physician to fully understand the severity of his condition.

As he approached the wooden stool settled by the bed, he saw how pale Thorin's skin had become – almost translucent against the blinding whiteness of the sheets. Some effort had been made to clean him and his wounds but his hair was still matted with dried blood and a thin sheen of sweat accompanied by evident pain buried in his sleeping expression informed the hobbit that the dwarven king had succumbed to some form of infection.

Bilbo silently set himself down by his bedside but despite trying to avoid disturbing Thorin's rest, he stirred at his arrival anyway. The dwarf's eyes flickered and scanned his surroundings in a fitful manner before landing on his new visitor. Surprisingly, the burning rage that Bilbo had expected never slipped into his expression. Instead Thorin simply laid his head back in what the hobbit could almost swear was a resigned sadness.

"You survived the battle then?" Thorin's voice was rougher than usual, if such a thing was possible, and the words seemed to require more effort than they ideally should have done. Bilbo edged closer slightly before remembering that there was little he could do. He was not fit for exploring, nor was he a warrior but above all else he was in no way a capable healer. And so, instead of a dignified response, he simply smiled weakly before remembering his purpose for being here.

"Gandalf said you wished to see me," he managed uselessly, and it was only when his words were out in the open that he realised how inadequate they sounded. In reality there were a thousand things he wished to say out loud considering it was his last chance to do so. And instead he'd simply recycled the wizard's words with all the manner of a mere servant awaiting an order from his master.

Thorin studied him for a few moments and Bilbo was almost shocked to find that while the rest of the dwarf's body had been shattered, the unrelenting steel blue of his gaze was yet to wither. It was all he could focus on as he waited for Thorin to speak, and the hobbit shuddered to think of the sheer effort it must require to even summon breath – let alone form coherent sentences – when one was in such a state.

"I'm sorry I sent you away so rashly. That I became so entranced by a mere stone that I saw what you were trying to do as such an unforgivable betrayal. No, don't-" He shot Bilbo a warning glance which stopped the hobbit from uttering a syllable. He had intended to stop Thorin in his tracks, to remind him that his taking the Arkenstone from its rightful owner _was _unforgivable. That his attempts to restore some semblance of peace and avoid bloodshed had all come to naught and that Thorin himself had been forced to pay for it. However, the exhaustion evident on the king's face informed Bilbo that he wanted to hear none of it. The hobbit was forced to respect this and he motioned for Thorin to continue, an action which earned him a smirk. "All I'm saying is that I should never have doubted you. I should have learned that lesson long ago considering everything you've done for us. Do not think that what occurred this day was your doing."

"But I wanted to avoid this!" Bilbo could not contain his frustration any longer, and while he was grateful that he and Thorin would not part in hatred, he still could not bear forgiveness he had not earned. "I broke your trust in order to avoid a battle, and yet…"

Bilbo did not need to continue. He may be a fool at times, and Thorin may have been gravely injured, but both were sane enough to understand the unspoken implications. A small part of the hobbit's mind, along with the dwarven king's unwavering condescending expression, told him that there was nothing he could have done to avoid this no matter how hard he tried. A battle would always have taken place; there would always have been bloodshed and death. Unsurprisingly, this knowledge did little to extinguish Bilbo's current self-loathing.

Neither of them spoke for a while after that. At first Bilbo assumed that Thorin was asleep once more, however when he looked up he saw that his gaze had instead wandered to the curtain that separated him from his nephews.

The hobbit wondered briefly if Thorin knew of their fate. If he was aware that the two boys who'd looked up to him as a father lay dead barely feet away. Thorin _had _been unconscious when Bilbo had entered after all, and he appeared to be feverish. Perhaps he had not been informed, perhaps he'd passed out before Fili and Kili had fallen, perhaps he was delirious enough to think them both well.

Bilbo shook his head sadly as such hopeful notions cropped up in his mind only to be torn down again. He knew Thorin too well for such comforts. The dwarf could be rash and bitter and occasionally blinded by anger, but he was no fool. He knew.

Before he'd even thought about it, Bilbo extended his hand and gripped the dying king's tightly. It was meant as a small token of comfort, one that Thorin more than deserved, and nothing more. However, despite an initial tension at the contact, there was no further reaction from the dwarf and his eyes remained fixed on the curtain. Regardless, Bilbo refused to let go. He was useless at healing and fighting and even burglary, but he was good at comfort. It was just a shock to the system to think of how long it had been since he'd had to offer comfort to a dying man.

Thorin swallowed before finally turning to face Bilbo once more. There was a new softness in his gaze, the like of which the hobbit had never associated with the dwarven king before, and a weariness too that seemed stronger than it had mere moments ago. That thought sent a chill slicing through Bilbo's heart. "There's still something I do not understand," Thorin managed, although it was evident from the breathiness in his voice that talking would soon cease to be a possibility. Bilbo pulled the stool closer to the bed, squeezing the hand in his grip a little tighter in encouragement. "When Kili found me, he told me he'd seen you."

Bilbo nodded, struggling to hold back tears as he remembered his final encounter with the young dwarf. "He did. He was the one who directed me back to the mountain."

"He said you offered to come with him. You offered to help find me, even if it meant wandering further into the battlefield-" Thorin was interrupted by his own harsh coughs and Bilbo froze as he noticed blood bubbling against his lips. He hastily rushed forward and brushed the splatters of red away with his sleeve, an action that the dwarven king was in too much pain to acknowledge. The coughing finally eased into shuddering breaths but the stubborn dwarf seemed to be adamant that he'd finish his line of thought. "Why did you do that? After everything I said to you?"

Bilbo felt hurt at the fact that the question even needed asking. "I'll admit, I didn't want to. I wanted to run to safety and leave that carnage behind." He remembered that well enough. His every instinct had berated him for being so stupid as to offer to go further into the turmoil. And yet, he had still offered… "I couldn't just leave though, could I? Not if there was anything I could do to help, not if I could make sure that Kili was not alone out there. To be honest, I wish now that I'd gone with him regardless of whether or not he wanted me to. I owed all of you that much."

And it was then that the tears finally fell as Bilbo felt himself relive every dreaded moment of that battle all over again. As he realised that he should have followed Kili, for then he could have done something useful and – if he'd been extremely lucky – at least one of the line of Durin may have lived. Thorin may be grateful purely for his offer, but now all the hobbit could think of was that he should have followed through with it.

"Bilbo?" The hobbit glanced up to meet Thorin's heavy-lidded eyes. If possible, the king looked even more drained and it was obvious that he'd soon surrender to sleep again. Bilbo vowed to leave the minute he fell unconscious. A peaceful one or not, he was not witnessing another death. "You may disregard everything else I've ever told you if you wish, but believe me when I say that you owe us nothing. You've done more than enough."

Bilbo swallowed down any retort his mind was supplying him with and instead he simply nodded. It was such a tiny gesture that he doubted Thorin would notice it, but it seemed to suffice. The dwarf let the subject lie as he shrank back slightly against the sheets. "I believe this is farewell then," he whispered with a sense of finality, his eyes fluttering as they quickly lost the fight to stay open.

"For now," was Bilbo's only reply. He refused to say goodbye or farewell or any other form of the word. Just as he'd refused earlier. The uncertainty that had accompanied Kili's parting had been his excuse then, but now he was simply all too aware that saying it out loud would make the moment too painful. Too real. And in all honesty, he'd endured enough grief today to put himself through yet more torture.

So instead he waited silently until he was certain that sleep had finally claimed the dwarven king. And, while he did eventually act on that as a cue to leave, he supposed he could be forgiven if he hesitated a little too long when it came to relinquishing his hold on Thorin's hand.

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Bilbo later learned from Gandalf that Thorin did not wake after that. He'd had a mercifully quiet death with Balin by his side, which when compared with his ancestors' fates was almost a kindness. However the hobbit could take no comfort from that fact. It still meant that Thorin was dead, as were his loyal nephews, and the manner in which they'd left the world would not change that fact. Nor could it relieve the pain of grief in his heart.

So when Bilbo received the news and somehow managed to shake off the wizard, his first course of action was to retreat into the darkest, loneliest place he could find. After that, all he could do was weep.


	4. Epilogue

**A/N Here's the last chapter. I'm sorry for the long wait for this one; real life caught up with me. I hope you enjoy and thanks for reading this story in its entirety :)**

_Disclaimer: I still own nothing._

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Bilbo grows old. Which, he supposes, is only to be expected.

It's not that he resents his old age. He's grateful for the time he's been given to dwell on his memories and create new ones. Besides, no ache in his weary bones can make him regret the precious time he's had with his nephew. It's just that time is a rather cruel mistress and it has escaped him as easily as trickling water through cupped hands.

Despite the fact that the year or two spent journeying to and from Erebor felt never-ending, the subsequent years have whizzed past as if in an instant. It's time he never expected to have when he set out on the quest, but he can't help but feel that he could have done so much more with it.

The Shire is as green and bright as it always has been. Its peaceful atmosphere contrasts so heavily with the nature of his adventures that it is almost dizzying at times, however Bilbo is grateful for the comforts of home. He knows that his fellow hobbits see him as an oddity now – antisocial, aloof, and possibly quite mad – but their attitudes humour him more than anything else.

It is nice to laugh, in spite of everything. It is nice to grab a slice of personal heaven as he spends each night by the flickering fire with a good book within reach and a hot broth warming his hands. Sometimes he can forget all that was lost. Everything that occurred all those years ago in a distant land that seems to exist solely in his dreams. The pain never truly vanishes but it has dulled somewhat. Age and experience has helped him deal with such burdens.

And so he continues to live as he'd always wanted to - surrounded by calm in the comfort of home. It's more than Bilbo could ever have asked for really. He may be compensating a little for the madness unleashed by the arrival of the dwarven company all those years ago, but it's enough.

And - Bilbo finds eventually - it is so much easier to accept his continued existence when he realises that he'd never let go of his friends in his mind. They still exist in his heart and mind and somewhere else that he's sure to venture to eventually.

He has no idea where that place is or what it looks like or if he'll even find them when he makes it there. He just hopes that 'there' is as beautiful as he's always been told.

* * *

Bilbo dies eventually. This doesn't really surprise him either.

It's a quiet death, one that seems rather understated given all he's been through. Nevertheless, unlike with Thorin and Fili and Kili, it happens at the right time and when Bilbo opens his eyes to a foreign land he experiences not disappointment but relief.

And then, ultimately, confusion.

A rather worn, circular green door faces him but as much as it resembles his own, he knows it cannot be. He'd had his own painted barely a week before whereas this one has peeled paint and frayed splinters and a simple carving that seems familiar although he's not entirely sure why.

Bilbo extends a hand that, to his surprise, is white and smooth and holds none of the scars that age had dealt it. He thinks for a moment that this must be a dream but the wood feels a little too cold against his skin, a little too real. The sound of the knock echoes before fading into nothingness and he wonders if he's doing something wrong before the door finally peels back to reveal two suspiciously smug faces.

"Fili-"

"And Kili."

"_At your service!_"

They bow in an overly dramatic fashion and Bilbo laughs more heartily than he has in years before grabbing them both in a tight embrace, ignoring their startled protests. He had forgotten how much he'd missed their smiles and childish laughter but here they were at last. Whole and warm and full of life in such a way that it feels comical given their shared predicament. It's only when they're both gasping for air between laughter that Bilbo finally lets them go, marvelling at how little they've both changed in spite of so much time.

Kili brushes down his now crumpled blue shirt and barely hides a blush while Fili glances at him, an amused glint in his eyes. Bilbo almost feels awkward before he notices the mock annoyance in the younger brother's eyes as he exclaims, "You're late! We've been waiting for ages!"

Bilbo chuckles before joining in the charade, feigning bashfulness while reciting a mock apology that threatens to ruin Kili's act. Fili smirks before lightly smacking the back of his brother's head, earning himself a glare in response. "What my brother is _trying_ to say is that it's good to finally see you again, Mister Baggins."

"And you," Bilbo responds, and he means it more than he thinks he's ever meant anything in his life. He steps inside the hobbit hole and stares in awe as he realises just how much it resembles his own. Carefully ordered oak furniture, tidied shelves and warmly lit corridors and the faintest trace of laughter from what he assumes to be the dining room. There are a few missing details, as if the place is constructed from an incomplete memory, but it feels real and Bilbo is grateful for it.

An insistent hand tugs lightly at his arm and he looks into Kili's bright eyes as the dwarf attempts to lure him to the dining room. "Come on. There's someone who wishes to see you."

Bilbo freezes and his heart fills with a warmth that he'd thought would never house there again. He doesn't know if he dares let himself hope, but it's evident in his tone anyway as he quietly asks, "Who?"

Kili and Fili share a knowing look and they both grin, and that's enough to tell Bilbo that he hardly needs an answer. He finally lets himself give into hope and he follows the young dwarves' lead as he notes - with a stab of content joy - that the sense of finality he'd once feared does not really apply to him anymore. Not here.

It's in that moment – after years of suppressed grief – that Bilbo finally becomes grateful that he refused to ever say goodbye to his friends.


End file.
